My boyfriend recently moved in with
me—the first straight guy I’ve ever shared an apartment with. I’m
very clean and take great pride in my apartment. However, since he
moved in, I’ve tried to be mindful of the fact that there will be
certain things I’ll need to adjust to. Still, I think it’s important to
clean up after oneself, so when I found an empty liter-sized Sprite
bottle among half-unpacked boxes, I figured I’d leave it there and let
him pick it up along with his other trash in our bedroom. The surprise
came a couple of days later when I noticed that the liter bottle was
not only still in our room, it was full. Was it a new bottle of Sprite?
Why wasn’t it in the fridge? I opened the bottle and caught a whiff not
of Sprite, but of piss.
I’m a heavy sleeper, so I guess I don’t...
Want to read the rest? Subscribe now to get every question, every week, the complete Savage Love archives, special events, and much more!
All Subscriber Benefits
...e fridge? I opened the bottle and caught a whiff not
of Sprite, but of piss.
I’m a heavy sleeper, so I guess I don’t hear
him pee into a plastic liter bottle in the middle of the night. I’ve
already mentioned not leaving dirty dishes around, making sure to use
coasters, etc., and I’m beginning to feel like a nag. But isn’t this
crossing the line?!
It doesn’t cross any lines of mine, PISS,
but it clearly crosses a line of yours.
And you know what else probably crosses a
line for you? Peeing in the tub—and I can guarantee you, PISS,
that any man too lazy to walk to the toilet in the middle of the night
is, without a doubt, too lazy to get out of the tub if he realizes he
needs to piss after he’s stepped into the shower.
So what do you do? Well, you cut him a deal.
You promise to stop nagging about the little things—dirty dishes
here and there, inconsistent use of coasters—in exchange for his
solemn promise not to piss in bottles or bathtubs. If your boyfriend is
smart, he’ll take the deal and stop pissing in bottles and
bath—well, he’ll stop pissing in bottles anyway, since it’ll be
easy for you to bust him on that. Pissing in the shower, on the other
Is there a word for the act of filling a
woman’s vaginal canal (appropriately lubed, of course) with latex,
waiting until it hardens, pulling it out, strapping it on, and then
fucking someone up the ass with it? If not, I would like to propose
“channeling.” My girlfriend prefers “verting,” but whatever you call
it, it sounds like fun. I know there’s a host of kits supporting the
penile “plaster caster” hobbyist, but I haven’t seen the feminine
equivalent advertised anywhere.
You’re free to spend your free time dreaming
up wild and crazy hypothetical sex acts and scenarios, CI, and
christening them, if that floats your boat. But the world will little
note, nor long remember, the names you come up with for your long list
of impossible and/or improbable sex acts. For a term to
stick—pegging, GGG, santorum—it has to describe or define
an act, an attitude, or a substance that is regularly engaged in,
assumed, or wiped up by a critical mass of sexually active people. And
there just aren’t enough willing women or interested men out there, CI,
to bring a term for vaginal-canal-as-dildo-mold into popular use.
But in case I’m wrong: I don’t think
“channeling” or “verting” quite captures it. If vaginal-cast dildos
catch on, CI, I believe the act should be known as a “Rachel
I am a 20-year-old straight female dating
the boy of my dreams. The only problem is that the sex is awful! His
dick doesn’t get hard half of the time, he doesn’t like blowjobs, and
he never seems to enjoy anything I do to him. The only thing he doesn’t
have a problem with is penetrating me from behind, or “doggy-style.”
I’ve asked him once or twice if he might like men, but he never gives
me a straight answer and I can’t shake the feeling that he might be
gay. He says that he never has a problem coming or getting hard when he
is masturbating. I am his first relationship. Could he be gay or is he
When I was a 20-year-old gay male, RC, the
“boy of my dreams” was a lot of things—soft and pink as a
nursery, for starters—but insecure, inept, and incommunicative?
Those weren’t the traits I dreamed about, RC, and they’re traits that
should disqualify a guy from boy-of-dreams status.
As to the matter of his sexuality, RC,
there’s no way for me to know for sure if your boyfriend’s a fag, short
of fucking his ass. (And even then I couldn’t tell you for sure—I
mean, what if he cried the whole time?) But a guy enjoying doggy-style
sex with girls is no more evidence of latent homosexuality than a gay
man’s preference for face-to-face anal is evidence of latent
heterosexuality. (And, yes, face-to-face is usually how it’s done,
But gay or straight, it doesn’t sound like
this boy is the right boy for you. Dream another dream, RC.
How long will come keep? Even
when my boyfriend blue-pills it and works my hole for a few hours, by
the time I push it out there’s hardly enough for ONE gulp—to say
nothing of filling a champagne flute. As hot as it sounds, I’m NOT
going to invite 10 of our closest friends to dump loads in me. I figure
my boyfriend and I could freeze our loads, push them up my butt, and he
can churn them as he works my hole. But can come go bad? I’d rather not
ask my doctor.
Desperately Seeking Semen
P.S. We’ve been together for five years and
stopped using condoms four years ago after testing. No risk of the
Gross-out letters from teenage straight
and/or closeted boys pretending to be disgusting fags don’t usually
include information about testing and the length of the relationship,
which leads me to believe that you might actually be disgusting fags.
So I will answer your disgusting question:
You and your boyfriend will gulp down
loads—or sip ’em out of champagne flutes—after you’ve
pushed them back out of your ass, DSS. Do you really think that
frozen-and-then-defrosted come, even if it’s gone “bad,” is going to be
any worse than the slop you’re already putting in your mouths?
My good friend Sarah tells me that you said
you would give me a shout-out in your column last week for my birthday.
I probably would have shit my pants and exploded with birthday
happiness. But you didn’t. So I just wanted to say thanks for ruining
my 21st birthday. Oh, and if I could get the $3.25 back that I paid for
the hardcover of The Commitment I found in a bargain bin, that would be
Patrick From Portland
P.S. Just kidding. You’re still my favorite
sex columnist. But seriously: my birthday? Totally ruined.
Sorry about that, PFP. I will make it up to
you by personally administering a belated birthday spanking the next
time I’m in town.